


The Dreamers

by zillah37 (visionshadows)



Series: Oranges and Vanilla [2]
Category: David Bowie (Musician), NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionshadows/pseuds/zillah37





	The Dreamers

I always carry a bag when I leave the apartment in New York. Especially when I know that Alex and I are going to spend the day wandering the streets and riding the subway all over the city.

We do it every weekend because I want her to learn what it’s like to live in a big city like New York and I want her to know the history of the place we call home now.

I make her hold my hand tight because even though I love New York, I know that it’s not someplace I want to lose her in.

She’s seven now and when we walk it looks like I’m walking with my granddaughter and not my daughter. It makes Alex laugh when I actually do have my granddaughter, her niece, with us on our New York walks.

“Daddy?” Her accent is a combination of British and New York and it makes me smile because it proves what a little traveler she is.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

She skips as she walks next to me, swinging her arms in turn swinging mine. “Where are we going today?”

“The Village,” I know that will make her smile. She has an love for the Village that I can’t totally understand but nurture. “I figured we could troll the stores and then go play in Washington Square for awhile.”

“Yes!” Alex jumps up and down before she starts to tug me to the subway station near the end of our street.

She always sits on my lap on the subway, her head resting on my shoulder as she watches the people making their way to and from work. I always keep my arms around her waist and tell her stories that make her giggle.

The hot, stuffiness of the underground subway station breaks when we climb the steps and enter the city again. It’s not an especially hot day, only in the low 70’s, which means we can wander the city and not worry about sweating to death. When it’s too hot we end up spending our wandering days in small clubs where jazz singers croon soft songs or in a Broadway audience. Alex enjoys those days as well but I know she enjoys the days walking around more.

As always we go to Rebel Rebel first because Alex likes to flip through the vinyl records there and speak to David, the gentleman who runs the store, in her grown-up voice and ask for things like an original pressing of The Stones Exile on Main Street. Asking Uncle Mick for a copy is out of the question. She wants to find it for herself.

It’s easy to forget that she’s only seven when I watch her lean against the glass counter and talk to him about music that was made thirty years before she was even born.

I usually head to the same area of the store, flipping casually through the ‘C’ section to find out whether there’s anything new or rare, like a copy of the show he did in a small Berlin club two years before. I’ve been looking everywhere for that since I found out it even existed from the small website he maintains meticulously.

That was a fantastic show and I want to have it. He didn’t know I was there, which is what I wanted.

I’ve followed his career closely just so I could watch him succeed.

“Daddy!” Alex’s voice is excited and she pulls me away from the ‘C’ section where I had been examining what looks to be a bootleg from a session he did in Liverpool in 2004. “You have to see what David found for me.”

I let the exuberant girl pull me back to the front counter where David leans against the ancient cash register with a sly smile.

“It was something she asked for last time you two were here,” David turns to a pile of CDs behind him, rummaging through them until he pulls out a pale blue jewel case. I know without seeing it what it is. “Finally managed to scrounge up a copy for her.”

Alex takes the CD almost reverently, turning it in her hands before opening the ancient jewel case.

It’s Oranges and Vanilla, a bootleg of the show I did so many years ago in New York where I sang The Prettiest Star for the last time.

How they came up with that name, I won’t ever know. I know there are insane amounts of bootlegs of that show around and all of them, without fail, are called Oranges and Vanilla. It’s the only bootlegged show that’s never had another name to it.

I swallow and manage a smile at David. I push my glasses back on and look at it with her. Her eyes are wide and happy because she’s holding what she considers to be a treasure in her hands.

“How much?” asks Alex, already digging into her pocket for her allowance. I watch as she drops crumpled up bills on the counter, flattening them with her delicate hands, waiting for David’s answer.

I know that David will wait to see how much she has before telling her how much the CD costs. He knows our pattern when we are in the Village. We come here first and Alex finds something she has to have. Then we go and get food. He always makes sure that the CD costs less then she has so she can still buy stuff elsewhere in the Village.

“It’s nineteen dollars, sweetheart,” David picks up the CD and quickly removes the small tag with the price on it from the back. I know she didn’t see it but I had. David is giving her a thirty dollar CD for nineteen dollars.

Alex carefully counts out the nineteen dollars and hands the bills to David. He takes them, giving me a little look that says ‘Don’t tell her.’ I know it well. When the CD is carefully placed in her bag, she takes my hand again and smiles at David widely.

“Let me know if you find that Josh Chasez Berlin show,” Alex says to David brightly before turning and leading me out of the small, cramped store. David waves to us and I try to regain my ability to speak.

“I wasn’t aware you were looking for the bootleg of that show,” I finally say to my daughter when we are halfway down the next block and she’s examining a small, silver necklace intently.

“I’ve heard a few tracks of it off the computer and I want the whole thing,” Alex says, turning the necklace over to look at the workmanship. “I also asked David to see if he could find a copy of the last album he did with the group he used to be in...um...”

“Nsync,” I say softly, picking up a bracelet myself and looking at it. “He was in Nsync.”

“That’s it,” Alex smiles at me. “Would you believe it’s really hard to find any of their stuff? Especially the CD after he married the other guy in the group.”

“Joey,” I reach into my pocket and pull out some money, paying for the bracelet and the necklace. “I have a copy of that somewhere, baby doll. You don’t need to bother David for it.”

I brush her hair to the side and put the necklace on her, trying to keep my hands from shaking as I do the clasp.

“I want my own copy though, Daddy.” She smiles down at the necklace, holding the small charm up so she can look at it.

“All right,” I smile and take her hand again. “C’mon. Let’s go. It’s time for food.” 

 

Some time later, I find myself wiping at her sticky hands with a wet napkin like a good parent. She squirms and looks back at the group of children she had been playing with before I made her come get cleaned up. It moments like this that I remember that she is just seven.

“Okay,” I laugh, letting go of her hands. “You’re clean. Go back and have fun.”

Alex bolts but not before planting a slightly sticky kiss on my cheek. I sit back and wipe at the stickiness on my cheek before leaning over and tossing the now-dirty napkin in the trash can.

The sun is shining and peeking through the trees in Washington Square. It’s full today, people everywhere. I can see the other parents sitting around, watching their children carefully as a game of freeze tag is being set up by the ten or so kids who have gravitated towards each other.

The group is always different each time we come here and I don’t think that will ever change. That’s one of the things I love about New York.

“In Cygnet Committee, you use descending thirds. I think that was a fantastic choice for that song and I really love that you had the balls to do that when no one was doing that.”

I spin around, my jaw dropping. I think my mind is playing tricks on me until I see him. He’s really standing next to me, a small smile on his face. I feel my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach.

He’s still beautiful, his blue eyes wide and sparkling. His hair is long and pulled back into a ponytail, except for a few loose strands that curl around his cheekbones. He’s thirty-two years old and he still looks like he’s twenty-five.

“Are you going to say anything or are you going to just stare at me?”

I shake my head a little, trying to break myself out of the shock of seeing him again. I can see our entire relationship flashing through my head when I look at him and it makes me want to scream.

“Well, Josh” – he only uses Josh now but he’ll always be JC to me – “Chasez,” I smile finally. “This is certainly a surprise.”

“It is,” he replies, holding out one slim hand, his left. I can see the wedding ring in his ring finger. “You look fantastic.”

“I look sixty-one years old,” I say, holding out my left hand, where my wedding ring is. “You’re the one that looks fantastic.”

And he does. He’s wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He’s holding a small, pink jacket in his right hand that I can only assume is not his.

“I can’t believe you are here,” says JC, laughing a little. “I’ve never seen you at this park before.”

I gesture towards the group of kids playing. “My daughter is in love with The Village. This is one of our haunts when we’re down here.”

JC looks at the group. “Which one is yours?”

“The one with long brown hair in the ponytail,” I point at Alex. “She’s wearing the green T-shirt.”

“Mine’s the one with the long braid,” he sighs a little. “I swear, her hair doesn’t stay in anything. It’s already coming out.”

“It looks like it’s incredibly curly.” Part of me realizes that the little girl he’s pointing to is Brianna and I can remember how curly her hair had been as a baby. The conversation almost seems surreal to me and I want him to stop talking.

“She gets it from her mother,” JC smiles at me though his eyes are still on Brianna. “But you know that.”

“I do.”

JC sits down next to me, crossing his legs and settling the pink coat across his knees. “Is New York your home base now?”

I can tell he’s trying to make small talk and part of me wants him to just shut up and sit in silence until the kids are done playing.

“I still have the house in London but we live here most of the year. I don’t like to move Alex around during school.”

JC nods his agreement. “Joe and I feel the same way about Brianna. Her school is here in New York so we make sure there’s one of us home at all times.”

“Where’s Kelly living now?” I watch Alex running around. She and Brianna have teamed up, drawn to each other for some unknown reason. Perhaps because their parents are talking. They’re holding hands and I almost want to call out to Alex and tell her to stop.

“She’s in White Plains. Brianna doesn’t spend much time with her though. Joe and I are full time parents.”

An awkward silence fills the air after that, neither of us know what to say. I’m acutely aware of the fact he’s sitting next to me. I can smell him, the mixture of oranges and vanilla that is distinctly JC. It’s a smell that I have turned away from for the past six years.

I can remember the past so clearly sometimes, and so fuzzily other times. Right now, it’s acute and sharp and painful. It’s there and I can see him laughing as we lie naked in his bed. I can remember exactly how his ribs rise and fall with each breath and the way his toes curl when you slide a finger down the back of his thigh. I can remember the way his hair slips through my fingers like silken threads.

I can remember all of that and more.

I wonder if he can.

“So what have you been up to?” His voice fills the silence that’s only between us. Around us, New York is still alive and breathing loudly, cars honking, children laughing, people talking. We are the only dead ones.

I turn to look at him, meeting his blue eyes briefly. “Painting mostly. A little producing here and there. Yourself?”

I ask even though I know the answer. I know everything about him that I can find out from David or from the Internet or on occasion from MTV.

“I’m in the studio at the moment,” His voice sounds alive at the mention of it. I remember that feeling. “I’m working on a new album. It’s going to be fantastic.”

“They all are,” I say to him softly, honestly. He blushes a little at my compliment and nods. “Who knew that you were meant to sit on a stage with a guitar and your voice?”

And he fixes his gaze on me, those blue eyes reaching into my soul and touching something deep inside, something long buried. I shift on the bench and wish for my daughter to interrupt us.

“You did.”

And I’m reminded of a conversation I had forgotten about until now.

We were standing on the balcony of a hotel room in Munich. I had a show there and he had flown in to see it but arrived too late and instead I found him curled up in my bed fast asleep, wearing a pair of wrinkled khakis and a too-tight T-shirt borrowed from Justin that says ‘Truck drivers do it all night long’ on the front.

I had kissed him awake and we made love long into the night. It was slow and slippery sweet, our bodies meshing and twisting and tangling like always.

We stood on the balcony in bathrobe, his arms around my waist from behind as we shared a cigarette, exhaling into the starry night and laughing and whispering and nuzzling each other.

We spoke in another language sometimes, our words hidden in looks and touches. We spoke of the future that night, a fantastic dream that could never happen, where this went on forever and we woke up in each other’s arms. We were the dreamers then.

I told him that I could see him sitting alone on a stage with a guitar on his lap. ‘Three chords and the truth’ I had said, quoting Bono because I knew he would understand.

He had laughed into the night but had kissed me all the same, saying instead that he was going to end up an aging pop singer pretending to still be young.

I didn’t believe him.

“I suppose I did,” I look away, frightened of him, of our past. “I’ve never been right before.”

“David,” JC says my voice softly, in that tone that I recognize from years long past. He doesn’t say anything else until I look back at him. “Three chords and the truth.”

I nod, looking away to reach into the bag and grab a bottle of water, taking a sip and offering it to him. He takes it, drinks, and hands it back.

“That’s exactly how I started,” he says. “Three chords and the truth. And no one wanted to hear me without the other four. Or perhaps because of the controversy surrounding me because of Joey. But I didn’t stop because I knew that somewhere, you were still watching me and you believed in me.”

I take another drink of the water, needing to do something because I didn’t know what to say to that.

“You’ve been there the whole time, watching me,” he keeps talking, looking at me the whole time, obviously needing to say this more than I wanted him not to say it. “From the wings, from the background. However you want to say it, you’ve been watching me. I see you there, like a shadow darting away when I turn to look. And that, more than my family, more than my friends, more than anything has kept me going. I know you’ve listened to the albums, read the liner notes. I know that you see each album is dedicated to you.”

I nod, wishing for cigarettes but knowing that I have none. Iman made me quit four years, six months, and ten days ago.

“David,” he says my name again, questioningly this time. “I let you in once and I’ve never let you go.” And he touches my arm, his hand light and quick but I can feel it burned there forever now. “Look at me.”

And I do because I’ve never been able to say no to JC, and he will always be JC even though he uses Josh now, again. I couldn’t say no the first time he licked his way down my body. I couldn’t say no when he left me. I couldn’t say no when I got the wedding invitation. I couldn’t say no when they asked if anyone objected.

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

I will forever hold my peace.

We were the dreamers once but not anymore.

“Daddy!”

Finally Alex interrupts us, running over with Brianna close on her heels. I break my gaze from JC and turn it on her. She’s smiling and her cheeks are red and her hair is all over the place but I don’t care. She’s beautiful and she’s mine.

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Can I have a bottle of water for me and Brianna?” asks Alex, brushing her hair back and trying not to obviously steal glances at JC. I notice that Brianna is doing the same thing to me and I wonder what role I have played in JC’s life that he hasn’t told me about.

I pull out another bottle of water and hand it to her. She drinks lustily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before handing it to the other little girl, who drinks as well. JC is attempting to fix Brianna’s hair as she drinks but with no success.

The girls disappear again, leaving me alone with JC. I don’t know what to say to him so I throw away the empty bottle of water, my fingers tapping out a smooth rhythm on my thigh.

“I suppose I’ve said too much,” JC is looking at the buildings on the other side of the park, his eyes faraway. “Things you never wanted to hear.”

“I don’t know what I wanted to hear,” I admit softly. “Why did you tell me?”

“Who’s knows when I’m going to get a chance to see you again?” JC shrugs a little, finally looking back at me. “The last time we’ve even been in the same room together was my wedding.”

I can remember his wedding clearly, sitting in the pew with Iman, my fingers wrapped tightly, so tightly around hers as I listened to him exchange vows with Joey. I remember trying to smile and pretend my heart wasn’t breaking. I remember her kissing me softly and murmuring that he would always be my prettiest star even if he was Joey’s husband.

I remember after that day, I chose never to speak to him again.

“We’ve been in the same room since then,” I say, revealing secrets in that sentence.

“True,” JC reaches out to touch me again but stops himself. “Along with hundreds of other people. Your farewell concert at Hammersmith three years ago. Berlin two years ago. Roseland two months ago. You were always in the shadows but you never spoke to me. How come?”

I turn away from him. “Watching you was the only way I could still be close to you. The only connection we still had was the music you made and I wanted to know that you could succeed on your own,” I turn to look at him again. “It’s like the parent that keeps a scrapbook of their child’s sports achievements. I’ve kept the scrapbook of your career because I’m so proud of you.”

JC seems taken aback for a moment, unsure of the way he should take what I have said. I don’t blame him in the least.

He reaches out again, his hand sliding up to my shoulder before moving closer and hugging me, wrapping those thin arms around my waist and hugging tight. I allow myself a moment to bury my nose in his hair, breathing in the scent of him.

Oranges and vanilla everywhere and his hand stroking my back lightly. It seems like the hug lasts forever and when he finally does let go, I feel lighter, freer.

He smiles at me, no words are needed.

I know that he understands.

He stands slowly, the jacket balled up in one hand. “David,” he says softly. “The bootleg of the Berlin show is called The Prettiest Star. I’ll leave a copy with David for Alex.”

I hear him call for Brianna and when I look back, I see Alex saying goodbye to her and JC holding onto Brianna’s hand as they walk away.

Alex comes back to me and climbs onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me tightly, pressing her small face to my shoulder. I hug her back and remember that JC had sung a cover of The Prettiest Star in Berlin, sitting onstage with a cigarette and his guitar.

“This is for you,” he had said to the crowd before closing his eyes and singing from his heart.

We were dreamers once, an old rock star and a young pop star.

We are dreamers still, an old man and a rock star.

We will be dreamers forever because we will always be together in our memories.

I can smell oranges and vanilla in Alex’s hair.

And I smile.


End file.
